Honeypot
by EmiGenki
Summary: Honeypot, defn: Espionage recruitment involving sexual seduction. Kagome works for an organization bent on ridding the world of Youkai, and her new assignment is the toughest one yet. Sesskag.


I walked down the dark, metallic underground hallway, listening to my stilettos clack and the humming of the dim fluorescent lights buzzing in my ears. I pulled out the blackberry in my pocket and checked—yes, this was the right address. Lengthening my strides (a difficult task in 5-inch heels), I cursed the hallway for being so…_ long_. Hurry it up already.

The end of the hallway soon came into view, a door as metallic and cold and depressing as the rest of the underground part of the building. The real building above it was quite a different story, a lavish hotel at the heart of Tokyo with an extravagant first-class restaurant on the ground floor. Getting down into the basement had no easy task, but I got here nonetheless.

Arriving at the door, I pushed. I expected it to be locked, but it wasn't, and opened soundlessly. _That's not like Him_, I observed as I walked into the room.

The light blinded me momentarily—like the sun emerging from a shroud of fog—but as my eyes adjusted I found myself standing in a perfectly normal office, like that of any middle-class business building, with potted plants and tall book shelves filled with lengthy, dusty volumes of never read books, plaques of achievements on the walls, a flat-screen behind the desk imitating the view from a penthouse apartment. Nice wood floors.

Perplexed, my eyes fell on a tape on top of the large and impressive, though wholly unremarkable, mahogany desk. Beside it was a mini tape-player and screen ensemble, the little things you find in janitor closets and teachers offices. Sticking the tape in the recorder, I sat back into the leather chair and waited.

The screen fizzled for a second, and then it became black, empty, nothing except audio. "Hello Kagome," His voice, multi-toned to conceal its real pitch, crackled from the speakers. "So glad you could make it."

"I have found an assignment for you." _No shit._

"Normally I would not have called on you… you know I value true talent… I would not waste it on mundane things." I smirked. The man spoke the truth.

"But that would also mean you must take the utmost care…you know incompetence does not go unpunished here… losing you would be such a waste…" _A waste indeed. Couldn't he have just make a voice recording?_

"This is a very particular case… the target has been well-hidden, well-guarded… only your utmost care would be adequate… we had thought the Taiyoukai race had long since died out, but apparently we were wrong…"

My pulse quickened. Taiyoukai. So that was it. For the first time in a while, I was excited.

"Makes me wonder about the capability of our hired help… but nevertheless, we have found him. Your information is the third book on the fourth shelf, page 128. You know what to do."

The voice faded, the crackling stopped, and the screen faded into a flatter black. I took three strides to the book shelf and found the book He specified. It was a huge, leather-bound volume, and the cover read _World Atlas_ in gold thread letters. I flipped to page 128, and found a manila folder inserted between the pages.

I took out the folder out and, after a thorough flipping-through, made sure the atlas was put back in the same spot. Inside the folder was two sheets of paper—one a large, color, high-res photo of a man. The concealment charms had been done spectacularly, and I couldn't blame the investigators for missing this one.

The other sheet contained some basic information:

Name: _Toga Taisho_

Age (Appearance): _~28 – 38_

Age (Actual): _~730 – 760_

Height: _6"10'_

Occupation: _Large business owner_

(Some more information similar to that you'd find on a dating site.)

And lastly, Special Instructions: _Use heavy concealment charms, target has highly-developed senses. Choose your approach._

_Choose your approach ._Well well well. This was the first time they've let me do that.

Although. The information ends there, with no hint on location or anything else. Well, it says he's a business owner, so some googling on my part should fix the problem… but still. It didn't seem like Him to do something so half-assedly.

About to leave, I took one last sweep of the room, and my eyes again fell upon the tape player. Cursing at myself for such blatant carelessness, I pressed eject on the recorder, pulled out the tape, and continued the rip out the black film. _Rule number one, destroy all tangible evidence._

As I was tearing, a small slip of paper fell out of the inside of the tape. Goodness, He was really in a testy mood lately.

I picked up the slip and on it were two sets of numbers. Smiling to myself, I pulled the atlas back out.

I flipped through to find the page with the X- and Y-axis numbers I presumed the numbers were, and the intercrossing lines intersected on a small black dot. New York City it was.

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I felt the unpleasant jolt and the plane made contact with the ground. No matter how many times I do it, I will never like flying. But anyway, at least the hard part was over, and we arrived art the Big Apple at 2a.m., an hour earlier than expected. I caught a glimpse of the obsidian-covered sky through the crack in the terminal. Smog obscured the stars… I guess some things are the same no matter where you go.

Going through customs was a tiresome business, but luckily it went by uneventfully and I got to the exit of the airport very quickly. I saw a chauffeur holding up a sign that read "Kagome Asakai," the name I was using for this assignment. I walked over, showed him the fake documents I had made with the help of His resources, and he led me to a black limo waiting in the parking lot.

I had been right—even if I had never found the slip, finding the location of this Toga required no more than a little bit of googling. Apparently the company he owned, Taisho Ind., was a big one, located at the heart of NYC. Upon further investigation I had found that the company was currently hiring, and they needed a secretary for the president, Mr. Taisho himself. I was amazed at my own good luck for a minute, but then I found that the listing went up about once or twice a month—none of the people hired ever stayed long. After I got the job (because I _would_ get the job), I vowed to do whatever I could to stay in the position as to keep my eye on Toga Taisho while I can work out a way to kill him.

I worked for YEO, the youkai extermination organization. The people in japan who knew that youkai were still around were few, and even less in the rest of the world, but I had known since I was very young. My uncannily strong miko powers had put me as a prime candidate as an agent ever since I was born, and my grandfather's ties to the organization helped as well. You needed at least a moderate amount of magical ability to even dream of working for the YEO, considering youkai and their unfair advantages. The YEO has been more than successful, mainly thanks to its owner. We just can him, well, Him. He, understandably, keeps His identity hidden. Obviously, if any youkai got even a whiff that a human might be in any way connected to the YEO, that human was hunted down and killed in the most gruesome way possible. It wasn't the safest profession.

Of course, it didn't come without its perks. This limo, for example. The hotel I would be staying at for the duration of this assignment was also pretty nice, I noted as we pulled into the Ritz. Regular paychecks came every month, even when you aren't on an assignment, and the pay ain't no minimum wage either.

The chauffeur opened my door and I got out. The bellhops looked surprised at my lack of luggage, but I ignored that. Walking into the over-done main room, I went over to the receptionist and gave her my last name. She looked through some files and flitted through her desk and eventually produced a key card for me. I thanked her and went up to my room.

A short elevator ride later I was in a nice room, not over-the-top but more than I probably needed. I walked over to the closet and, sure enough, it was fully stocked with any kind of outfit I needed.

Taking a swig from one of the soda cans I found in the mini-fridge, I noticed another manila folder on my pillow.

_Ahhh, finally. _The confirmation for my Identity Request. I'd send the thing a few days earlier and I had expected it back sooner, but no matter—it was here now. Flipping it open and above the big, black 'Identity Request' was a red stamp that read "APPROVED". Of course.

There was a post-it stuck under the heading. _Your Taisho Ind. Interview is tomorrow at 9 a.m._

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End file.
